"Keokotah, long ago you spoke of the animal the Poncas call Pasnuta?"
He remembered only too well my doubts, and his features stiffened, his eyes blazing a challenge.
"I was wrong to doubt you. We who have not traveled this country as have you think such animals only appear in other, faraway places. I would have you speak of this animal."
He knew nothing of my dreams or nightmares. These dreams were not like the occasional flashes of the future that had sometimes come to me, but I was disturbed by them. Was this a foresight of my hour of death? Was I to die impaled on a tusk or trampled under the feet of such a monster?
Keokotah did not answer but turned to the Ponca woman. "Tell him of pasnuta," he said.
She came over to us and sat cross-legged on the floor. "Pasnuta beeg! Ver' beeg! We kill pasnuta. Much meat at one time."
"They surround the beast," Keokotah said. "Drive him into a swamp or over a cliff or several will challenge him, seeming to attack, and while he looks at them others come from behind with spears."
"Where do you find them?"
The Ponca woman shrugged. "Wherever. Out on long grass. In mountains. Who knows where? We find, we kill. Much meat."
Her eyes lit with memory and remembered excitement. "Long winter, much, much cold! There is hunger in the lodges! Many long hunt, nothing! Spring no come! One day Running Bear, he find track. Beeg, beeg track! He say come, and many warrior go. They follow track. Push pasnuta in deep snow. They follow, follow, follow. Pasnuta get in deep snow, no can move good. Warrior surround.
"Pasnuta charge! He keel one. He throw one far, but that one fall in snow, not much hurt. They stick pasnuta with spear! Many spear! Much meat! No more hunger in the lodges."
"Do you see them often?"
"No many! One time many! Old man say so. In my life we keel three, maybe four."
All the descriptions tallied. They were hairy elephants, huge creatures, some with tusks, some without. Once there had been many, now they found them but rarely. They were fierce, but not hard to kill when there were a dozen or more warriors.
Yance, when wandering, had come upon some huge bones near a salt lick. The flesh had long been gone, but the skeleton of the beast had been intact. Yance had brought back, with the help of some Indians, two large tusks that we had sold to a trader who came into the sound with his ship.
It seemed preposterous, but who could say what did or did not exist? And I had learned to trust Indian stories. Yet what did this mean to me? Why was I dreaming of the red-eyed monster? And why when faced with such a terror did I not try to escape?
So passed the days. We hunted and then smoked and dried what we did not eat. We gathered from the forest, from the mountain slopes and the meadows. We ate what was needed and saved the rest. We gathered fuel for the winter to come, and watched for enemies who did not come.
Yet there were signs that Indians came often to this valley. From the old trails we found, these Indians came from the west. They were not the dreaded Komantsi.
One day when returning from a hunt I climbed on Paisano's back. He stood for a moment, but when I urged him on he walked off, unconcerned, carrying my weight easily. He had been handled much, had carried packs, and had been hand fed, so he had no fear of me. And he liked to be fussed over and scratched.
So I rigged a crude saddle that conformed with his body and devised a bridle that enabled me to guide him. An evening came when the sun set in all its red glory, painting the peaks with fantastic hues. From a ridge near our fort I watched the sunset and rode Paisano down to the fort.
Our Indians had not seen me astride him, for always I had mounted Paisano when well away from camp, and now they stood back and watched, awestruck. This was big medicine, and I knew it.
Komi came outside when she heard the excitement and watched me ride in. The time was right, for tomorrow would be a clear, bright day.
"Tomorrow, Itchakomi Ishaia, tomorrow I shall bring down fire from the sun."
When morning came the sun was bright and I went early to the river and bathed. When I returned to the fort I built a fire of cedar chips and using an eagle's wing, wafted the smoke over me. It was a cleansing rite used by Indians I had known, and I knew Itchakomi would know it for what it was.
Her religion meant much to her, and although our beliefs were not the same their roots were similar, and I would pay respect to what she believed.
When the time came to climb the mountain to the altar I had built she came forward with a crown of feathers to place on my head. The feathers were only on the forepart of the crown.
So in the hour before high noon I led the way, followed by Itchakomi, the Natchee, Keokotah, and the women to my altar, where I had laid the makings of my fire.
For a long moment I stood before the altar. Then I lifted my arms to the sun and stood for an instant, and then lowered them. In my hand I held the burning glass taken from the pocket in my belt. I brought the glass into focus and slowly moved it down until a pinpoint of intense light was on the gathered leaves.
An instant of the intense light, and then the leaves began to smoke. There was a low murmur of astonishment from behind me. The smoke lifted, and a black spot appeared on a dried leaf and began to widen. A small flame took hold and I nudged some dried moss close to the flame. It caught. The moss smoked, and then broke into flame. I slipped the burning glass back into its pocket in my belt and pushed the tinder closer.
The flame leapt up, the fire crackled, sticks caught fire. I stepped back and turned to Itchakomi. "The Sun," I said, "has given us fire."
Chapter Thirty-Eight.
We gathered our corn in the morning, breaking the thick ears from the stalks and carrying them in handwoven baskets to the fort. The ground was rich and there had been rain enough, and always there was sun. The best of the ears I put aside for spring planting, except for a couple that I hand fed to Paisano.
Along the mountainsides we gathered seeds, hunted, and watched the skies with wary eyes for the change we knew was coming. Our sacred fire had been moved from the high mountain to a cave, where it was sheltered from wind and rain. There we stored wood to keep the fire burning, stored it dry against the time of snow.
My pistols were loaded and there was powder enough taken from our enemies to load at least twice more. Working with the silver-lead ores from nearby I molded several hundred balls and stored them against the future.
Still I had found no sulphur, yet I had been told by Sakim that it occurred where there had been volcanic action, and many of the signs were near. A wandering Indian told us of a place far to the north and west, but there was no time for such a trek before snow fell.
Now darkness came before we were ready, and leaves began to fall from some trees, and fewer flowers were in bloom, only the lavender fleabane with the gold centers, fringed gentians, rabbit bush, and sulphur flower. The time of cold was coming, but the time of storytelling, too, when we would spend much time by the fire, remembering old tales from times gone by, and listening to stories the Indians told to their children. Soon Komi would be telling those stories to our child. It was a strange thought and a worrisome one. What did I know of being a father?
Of all things here I missed books the most. How I longed for something to read! The mind has no limits but those we choose to give it. The mind reaches out hungrily for learning, and mine now was finding too little upon which to feed. Each night I stirred Itchakomi to remembering, asking question after question to understand better her people, her religion, and her ideas, and I shared mine with her.
And then came an evening when the wind blew down from the Sangre de Cristos and our fire sputtered on the hearth. Venison broiled over the fire, and when Keokotah came in he walked at once to the meat and with his knife cut a thick slice. When he had eaten he said, "Now we fight!"
"What?"
"They come. All afternoon I have run to speak the message. Two come, but they come not together."
"Two men?"
"No
two men. Two parties, one to make trade, one to make war."
The others gathered around. The Ponca woman put down her weaving.
"Diego comes. He has twenty pack mules. With him are six soldiers, two Indians. He comes to trade."
"You know it is Diego?"
"I speak him. The other is Gomez. He comes with soldiers and with bad Indians. He comes for war."
"How many?"
"Twenty men. He has four soldiers and many bad Indians. I think he wishes to catch Diego." Keokotah paused to chew his meat. "I speak Diego. Now he knows of Gomez. He comes this way fast."
There was silence in the room. We had enjoyed our weeks of peace, but we had known this time would come. Yet we were so few to defend against so many.
Would Diego fight beside us? I doubted it. He had come to trade, and to fight against his own people could be none of his planning, despite the fact he did not agree with them and disliked Gomez.
Diego had implied he was interested in trade, and he knew it would be good for the Spanish to have an outpost where they might resupply themselves when on forays against the Komantsi. With so many pack animals he would be bringing trade goods, but what did Gomez have in mind?
Itchakomi of course, but what else? Revenge, also, but that would not be enough. Gold? We had little gold, and of that he could know nothing. But gold was the overriding motive for all the Spanish exploration. He might assume that we had found gold.
Why else would we be staying here?
He would know the Pawnees were gone. He will believe we are alone. He will not know of our friends the Natchee who have joined us.
Yet we were few, and how were we to defend ourselves? I had but little ammunition, and the guns would no longer be a surprise.
"There are the Utes," Itchakomi said.
It was a good thought, yet danger might lie with the Utes, an even graver danger than with Gomez, for this was considered Ute land and we had moved upon it. There were indications that they came to this valley and camped here, although so far we had seen none of them.
From the beginning I had hoped to make them allies, for we had heard they were traditional enemies of the Komantsi, but I had no idea where they were nor how to find them, and they might attack without warning.
The fire crackled, and outside a wind blew cold. We did not look at one another, each huddled with his own doubts, her own fears. Our enemies were many, and we were few.
The walls of our fort were strong, but Gomez would have planned for them. He was a shrewd, dangerous fighting man, irked by his previous defeat and undoubtedly determined it should not happen again.
We could escape now. We could fly to the mountains and hide, but that would mean the destruction of our fort and our food supply. It would result in our starving in the snow, and Itchakomi was pregnant.
We could expect no help from anyone. Whatever was done must be done by us. Yet what could we do? The few defenses used on the previous attack would be known to Gomez. There would be no attacks by horse-riding men this time. They would attempt to capture the fort and us, but failing in that they would use fire.
Fire ... ?
"I will fight outside," Keokotah said. "I no good behind wall."
"As you will, but first come with me to meet Diego."
Turning to Itchakomi, I said, "Itchakomi, you will be in command within the fort. Do you keep your Natchees to defend it with you. You they know, and you they will protect."
"And you?"
"I shall go out, but I shall return." It was in my mind to do them damage before they reached us. Yet how? What could I do?
My hand reached for Komi's and we clasped hands in the shadows, watching the fire. I was not a man who spoke much of love, although I knew such speaking was treasured by women, but it was much in my heart and I thought of her always. Now, at this moment, I feared for her, and I feared what lay before us.
What to do? They depended upon me, trusted in me. Not only was I their master of mysteries, but I was their war chief.
Now, at the beginning of our second winter, we were snug and warm. We had much dried meat and many seeds, and we had corn. We had cut wood and piled it close at hand. We were prepared for winter, for storytelling time, and now our enemies had come and my people looked to me to save them, to keep them secure.
Always, I had planned to roam, to be free, to move as I wished, when I wished, but when one has a wife and children that is no longer possible, and when one has possessions he is as often possessed by them as possessing them.
Here it was warm and quiet, here was peace and comfort, here were my few friends.
But what could Ido?
First, to meet them outside. To hold them up in their march, to nibble away at their confidence, to lessen their numbers.
We had a good supply of arrows. We had extra spears. We knew the line of effective range for our bows. We had cut back trees and brush so any attacker must step into the open before he was within effective range of our walls. By night we had no such protection.
We had the small caltrops we had used before, and something else besides. During the summer, with something of this in mind, we had collected and dragged back to the fort many spined leaves of prickly pear and hedgehog or strawberry cactus. Knocking them loose and picking them up with forked sticks, we had piled many upon a skin and then dragged them back to the fort. Now, working in darkness and with forked sticks, we scattered them in the grass around the fort. The caltrops might stop a charge by horsemen, but these would stop men on foot wearing moccasins, which many of the Spanish soldiers now wore.
It was little enough. We had no protection against fire arrows, and they would certainly be used.
"We must rest now," I said at last. "Tomorrow Keokotah and I will go out to meet Diego. Then we shall see."
Now would my pistols be useful. There was ammunition enough to reload at least twice, and each pistol was good for twelve shots. It might be enough.
Yet even I, who am a good shot, will miss as often as I hit when shooting at moving, attacking enemies, some wearing partial armor. If I scored with even one-third of my shots I should be fortunate, fortunate indeed.
We slept, and on this night there was no red-eyed monster, and I slept soundly and well, but in the last gray light I slipped from under the robes and dressed quickly.
Bathing my hands and face, I gathered my weapons and started for the door. Komi was there, and for a moment we stood, holding hands and looking at each other. Then I took her in my arms. "Do not fear. I shall come back."
"I do not fear, and when you come, I shall be waiting."
Paisano was waiting. I put my crude saddle in place, mounted, and rode out the gate, which Itchakomi closed after me.
Trusting to Paisano's keen senses, I started south, knowing the country but letting him pick his way. Riding, I kept alert for the smell of smoke from the campfire of Diego.
Dawn was sending its first crimson arrows into the sky before I caught the smell of smoke. Then crossing a low hill I saw the glow of fire. Drawing up, I studied the small camp.
Men were up and moving about, loading packs on animals. They were less than four miles south of our fort. I recognized the tall, lean figure of Diego and rode closer, calling him by name.
"Is it you, then?" He walked toward me and then stopped abruptly. "What--!"
"It is all right," I said. "I ride a bull."
Swinging down I walked forward, the great beast following me. Paisano had grown into a huge, powerful bull, more than six feet at the hump and weighing well over two thousand pounds, perhaps closer to three thousand.
Diego swore and then spat. "What next will you do? What next?"
"I'll buy what you have to sell, if that is what you've come for. Unless you want a fight you'd better leave before Gomez comes. He's not far behind you."
"The Kickapoo told me. If he wants a fight he can have one." He paused, looking into my eyes. "I cannot join you, but if he attacks me, and you should attack him at the s
ame time ..."
"It could happen," I said, "but first the goods."
Gomez was nowhere in sight when we reached the fort. We drove the pack mules through the gate, but I permitted only Diego and one man inside.
With two of the Natchee watching from the high ports, Diego displayed his goods. Four axes, four shovels, a crosscut saw, several bushels of colored beads, two dozen hatchets, and various other tools and equipment, including an adz. There were also three mule-loads of brightly colored cloth.
"Tools for your own use," Diego said, "and trade goods."
In my belt I had two dozen gold coins of Spanish origin, but I wished not to use them. My father had given them to me before we had parted at Shooting Creek, and I would hold them against some greater emergency than this. Yet there were hides we had, buffalo robes, and a few ingots of silver, melted down from the purest silver I could find while making balls for my pistols.
We bargained, but not too sharply on my part, for I wished him to do well. If he did well he would come again, and without him I had no source of supply.
At the end I threw in another ingot of silver, weighing almost a pound. "Come again, Diego, in the spring. We will make good trade, you and I."
A voice called down from above, and Itchakomi said, "They come!"
When the soldier had driven the mules outside, Diego turned quickly to me. "A gift," he said, placing a packet in my hand, "and if they find out I gave you this it is a hanging matter."
In that instant he turned and ducked through the gates and was gone. Outside I heard a clatter of feet as they drove the mules away.
The gate swung shut and I took the package and went inside.
Keokotah was outside, away in the hills that he loved, and he would fight from there as he wished.
Placing the packet on the table, I looked to my guns, and then I climbed to the high ports to look down the valley.
Diego was nowhere in sight, so they must have fled up the canyon behind us. Gomez was outside. From the trees he called out. "Surrender now and we will let you go free! Lay down your weapons and come out!"
Jubal Sackett (1985) s-4 Page 29
